


Doctor Agnes Device-Pulsifer

by Angel_of_indulgence, Pakamausi



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Christmas Fluff, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Kid Fic, Multi, Play Pretend, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Wings, pretend hurt/comfort, the soft warm hug from Aziraphale that we all need, well he is not but he is good with this one kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:21:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27912940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_of_indulgence/pseuds/Angel_of_indulgence, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pakamausi/pseuds/Pakamausi
Summary: Doctor Agnes Device-Pulsifer was a very important doctor at the most advanced hospital in all of London, despite being only five years old.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 38





	Doctor Agnes Device-Pulsifer

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [ד"ר אגנס דיוויס פולסיפר](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27913129) by [Angel_of_indulgence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_of_indulgence/pseuds/Angel_of_indulgence). 



> English translation provided by [Pakamausi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pakamausi).

Doctor Agnes Device-Pulsifer was a very important doctor at the most advanced hospital in all of London, despite being only five years old.

She owned a white suitcase which included a little device that printed out appointments on real paper (recycled, of course; it was the only type of paper what Mummy allowed), a stati – a stethe – that apparatus one fitted into one’s ears at one end and placed the other end of on a patient’s chest or back or tummy to listen to their heart or lungs and anything else happening inside. It contained a plastic syringe that terrified all her dolls, and Daddy had taught her how to calm them, which had nothing at all to do with the fact that Agnes herself wailed and cried in terror whenever she’d had to get her shots. She had a blood pressure cuff which she enjoyed securing with Velcro and squeezing the little bulb and watching the dial jump back and forth. She had a device for peering into people’s ears, and she had a little plastic bottle with a red cross on it that was a cure for anything, from a skinned knee to a cold.

She also had a handsome young intern, a promising student who followed her everywhere and helped he diagnose patients and prescribe the correct medicine to each doll and teddy-bear – based, of course, on her award-winning studies and papers, which were published in all the best international medical journals. Her intern swore up and down that he’d read every word of every book and article she’d ever published and listened to every second of her lectures, and promised her with twinkling eyes what a great honor it was to work with the person who had so inspired him. Doctor Agnes had little idea what all of this meant, but she enjoyed knowing it all the same.

The intern’s main job, which he’d studied medicine many years to prepare for, was to repeatedly banish Mummt and Daddy, who came by occasionally to remind Agnes that it was long past her bedtime, to ask if she was not tired, and if her intern would not prefer to come back to the living room to talk with the grown-ups.

“Come, Doctor Pulsifer,” said the intern after the hundredth such occasion of her father coming to tell her that she really ought to get to bed and that Mister Crowley was probably tired of her games (a claim that was heartily denied), “it’s time to perform your rounds.”

She didn’t see him lower the dark sunglasses he always wore and wink at her father as she turned to the living room with her little white suitcase and her syringe and her blood pressure cuff.

“I think Mummy ought to be first,” said the intern as the little doctor dutifully printed out the appointments on her little printer and prepared to hand them out among the adults seated in the living room chatting and laughing.

Mummy, as it turned out, had an ear infection.

“Just like you did last month, remember?” said Anathema.

Agnes nodded even though she only vaguely remembered those trying few days when her mother got up several times a night to soothe her, on top of Persephone’s nightly feedings. (The name of Agnes’s baby sister had been suggested by her godfather Crowley.)

Agnes peered into Mummy’s ears with her little device, then carefully tipped a few drops of miracle medicine from her little plastic bottle into them.

Daddy said he’s got “a terrible headache.” Agnes’s intern suggested, based on a most excellent article published by Doctor Device-Pulsifer in a prestigious medical journal, that the best cure would be for Agnes to clean his spectacles with the little cloth – she always loved doing that.

Madame Tracy had developed an eye infection after stabbing herself in the eye with her make-up brush, and received the same treatment as Mummy.

Shadwell muttered about being fit as a fiddle, but eventually capitulated after much cajoling from the other adults, and declared that he’d “teach the little tyke something useful.” He explained that his shoulder was dislocated and showed her the correct way to rotate his arm to pop it back into place.

Adam’s wrist hurt because he studied hard and worked long hours at his computer. He got a kiss on the wrist and an imaginary band-aid (“Invisible, of course, so that nobody can see it,” promised Agnes, who did not like to prescribe visible band-aids) and Pepper needed a backrub, since she was sore after a particularly brutal practice with her volleyball team before the holidays.

A doctor’s job is hard work, and so by the time Doctor Agnes Device-Pulsifer got to her final patient, she was yawning and rubbing at her eyes with her tired little fists. Her gait was that of a waddling duck, or perhaps simply that of a five-year-old girl who was up past her bedtime and who had stubbornly refused her afternoon nap. But the show, or rather, the game, must go on.

“Oh, hello there, Doctor Pulsifer,” Aziraphale smiled affectionately at her. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”

“What seems to be the problem, Uncle Fell?”

“My tummy hurts terribly,” he said, punctuating his statement by placing his hand on his plush belly. “Madame Tracy is a ruthless cook, and I swear your Daddy’s Christmas cookies turn out scrummier every year.”

Madame Tracy and the angel traded smiles, and the older woman blushed.

“Ah, I know exactly what the cure for that is, Doc P.,” said the intern with a devilish smile. “I read about this in your book. What this patient needs is a nice warm cup of tea, and a hug. Am I right?”

Doctor Agnes Device-Pulsifer considered this for several moments, then nodded enthusiastically and giggled as the intern lifted her up in the air and deposited her in Mister Fell’s lap. Mister Fell was her godfather, and he owner of the most comfortable lap of all the grown-ups around her, including Mummy and Madame Tracy.

Some might call it cheating that, in the celestial plane, a pair of warm white wings embraced Agnes alongside the angel’s corporeal arms. But what the humans didn’t know… and, well, Aziraphale wouldn’t exactly call it _cheating_ , since it was not a competition. Not really.

And so he cradled the young girl the same way Mummy and Daddy cradled her little sister, and he never told her she was a big girl now and she was too heavy, or that it was uncomfortable or inappropriate to hug her.

In fact, Mister Crowley and Mister Fell never complained at all, even when Agnes climbed and clambered all over them, bouncing or sitting in their laps. They were never too busy, they always had time to sit on the floor and play with her, and she was always allowed to eat ice-cream or chocolate while she sat with them – in fact they encouraged her do just that. Even Mister Fell, who normally took such particular care with his clothes, didn’t mind if she got stains on his shirt or trousers; he would always pop into the loo for a moment and return with his suit immaculately clean. He told Agnes it was magic, but Mummy always scolded him and explained to Agnes that he just used lots of soap and warm water, and maybe he used Mummy’s hair-dryer too sometimes.

Agnes knew, deep in her heart, that though she was undoubtedly Mummy and Daddy’s, she was always also, just a little bit, Mister Crowley and Mister Fell’s little girl.

Now Mister Fell’s arms held her safely, cuddling her close to his warm, soft body, her head cradled against his chest. She heard the sounds of her intern filling the kettle and mugs rattling in the kitchen, and recalled her duties as a physician. She began to stroke her patient’s hurting tummy in small circular motions.

“Better?” she asked, her warm cheeks ruddy against the light-colored material of Mister Fell’s waistcoat.

“A little. Keep going,” he said, stroking her hair as though she were a kitten. This was another game they sometimes played: Agnes was a tiny kitten Mister Fell had found in the rain, and he’d taken her into the bookshop, where she curled up by the fire until she was warm, got a bottle of milk (this was her favorite part, a new addition since the arrival of her little sister) and then stalked the shelves and scratched annoying customers who attempted to buy the special editions. These customers were always played by Mister Crowley, who had special voices and outfits for each and every one. This was something else she loved about Mister Crowley and Mister Fell: they always played any part she needed them to, and they were very good at make-believe.

Aziraphale’s breathing slowed and, Agnes’s followed. He hummed an ancient, melodic tune, so low that it was barely heard over the chatter of grown-ups. Its sound wrapped Agnes as though in a warm blanket nonetheless.

When Crowley returned from the kitchen bearing a cup of tea, the young doctor was fast asleep in the arms of the Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, who held her close and gazed at her as though she were a pile of priceless first editions. In the lamplight of Jasmin Cottage, the angel and the child looked like something out of a renaissance painting: soft and warm.

“Adam Kay was right – the system really isn’t working if doctors are literally falling asleep on their patients,” Crowley said as he set the cup of tea down on the coffee table, careful not to wake said sleeping doctor.

“I can’t thank you enough,” said Anathema, her voice soft with relief.

“It’s quite all right,” said Aziraphale as he tightened his hold on his goddaughter while her little hand clutched at his waistcoat in her sleep. “We enjoy playing with Agnes, don’t we, my dear?”

“Oh, sure, she’s all right,” Crowley flopped onto the couch next to Aziraphale, claiming his deserved portion of warmth from the angel. “Hey, the doctor doesn’t get all of you; interns have rights too, you know.”

“Bloody pansies,” muttered Shadwell, not without a hint of fondness.

“You try living in England as a cold-blooded creature,” Crowley shot back at him as he shoved his freezing hands behind Aziraphale’s warm back.

“D’you want us to put her to bed?” offered Newt – quite bravely so, seeing as he was currently rocking the bundle of blankets that was Persephone in his arms, walking back and forth in the living room in the hope that she would remain asleep.

“No, that’s all right,” Aziraphale said again, looking down fondly at the sleeping child, her head rising and falling with his own breath. “I’ll take her up to her room shortly.”

Doctor Agnes Device-Pulsifer was a very important doctor at the most advanced hospital in all of London.

She was a discoverer of new lands.

She was a pirate.

She was a clown, a princess, a magician, an actor, a veterinarian, an author, a construction worker and a professor, a witch and a hunter.

She was anything and everything Aziraphale’s hand, still stroking her hair, conjured into the dreams of a child of five.

She slept soundly.

She was safe.

After all, her godfather was an angel.

**Author's Note:**

> First fic I've written in the fandom ever, based on some of my own childhood memories. Hope you enjoyed the work and the translation, and if you did, please feel free to comment! :)


End file.
